Jolwas and the Bad Cat
by jkrowlingjr1945
Summary: There's an orange kitten, tears, French lullabies, and promises. (Based on Sclez's headcanon of Peitaire. Rated k for mentions of child abuse)


Jolwas and the Bad Kitty

( a Petite!Taire drabble by courfeyracismysuperman)

The kitten wasn't even supposed to have been there. Combferre had been directed by Enjolras weeks ago to take the fluffy animal to the vet.

But as Enjolras sat on the bar stool in the kitchen, a tea cup containing cold Earl Grey clutched tightly in his hand, he had to admit that maybe the animal wasn't so terrible. Enjolras watched the little ball of fur skirt between Grantaire's chubby legs, his tiny fists catching handfuls of fluff. He heard Grantaire burst into another fit of giggles, followed by a pitiful bit of mewling.

"Jolwas! Look here, Jolwas!" Grantaire yelped joyfully. Enjolras peeked over the counter and had to grin at the little boy's childish smile. The orange kitten was swaddled in Grantaire's arms, his face pressed into the frog on Grantaire's shirt. Grantaire was making a show of pressing a toy pacifier (bought by Joly on impulse) into the kitten's mouth. "Kitty!" he crowed, reminding Enjolras of the little girl in that Disney movie adult Grantaire adored so much.

"Be careful Taire," Enjolras said gently. "I don't want the kitten to scra-" Enjolras was cut off by a mighty yowling followed by a shrill screech. He dropped his tea cup and ran into the living room, cursing himself because if anything had happened to the little boy-

Grantaire was cupping his cheek with his hand, blood seeping through his paint stained fingers (Water colour did not mean washable, as Enjolras had learned from experience.) and mixing with the boy's tears. Enjolras ran to the boy's side, scooped him up and grabbed the kitten by the scruff of his neck.

"'Aire bad boy… Kitty not yike 'Aire." Grantaire sobbed. "Kitty 'cratch 'Aire… bad boy."

Enjolras shook his head fitfully. "No, Taire. No, little frog. You're a good little boy." Enjolras whispered pressing kisses to Grantaire's head as he hurried into the bathroom.

"Dada says m'bad. Says I make messes… Says 'Aire is worfl-worfless." Grantaire continued pitifully. "'Aire is a bad boy." He insisted as they turned the corner.

Enjolras felt the rage build up in his stomach. "Dada's wrong. Grantaire is a good boy, alright? Such a good boy." He pressed a gentle kiss to Grantaire's forehead trying desperately to soothe him. He put Grantaire down on the edge of the sink and grabbed a frog washcloth out of the medicine cabinet. Enjolras got it damp then pried Grantaire's red fingers away from the scratches. As he rinsed the blood off the little boy's fingers, Enjolras started humming the old French lullaby his mother sang to him as a child. It calmed Grantaire in an instant and when Enjolras dabbed at the beading spots of blood on Grantaire's face, the boy only flinched when the cloth made direct contact. "See? Joly would be proud of you. Sitting so still for me." He cleansed the scratches of blood and was relieved when the marks weren't deep.

Grantaire sniffled. "'Aire yikes Jolwas… Jolwas is nice. Jolwas doesn't do shoutin' and hittin'." He whimpered as Enjolras squeezed Neosporin on the scratches and bandaged the little boy's face.

Enjolras growled involuntarily, earning a wince from Grantaire. "Sorry, Jolwas. Sorry, sorry. Be a good boy, 'Aire be a good boy." Grantaire pleaded, holding his hands in front of his face, as if he had learned from experience that he could shield his face from blows in that manner. Fresh tears clouded in his eyes and he started blubbering. "Sorry, sorry. M'sorry, didn't mean to make you upset Jolwas, sorry."

The blonde finished bandaging Grantaire and pulled him into his arms. "Grantaire, stop crying sweetheart." The little boy looked up at Enjolras, tears still leaking from his heterochromatic eyes. "I'm not angry with you. I wasn't… I wasn't growling at you. I was upset because your daddy is wrong. He shouldn't do hittin' and shoutin'." Enjolras whispered gently. "You're so little and precious. And good. You're very good." He gently wiped tears from Grantaire's cheek.

Grantaire sniffled. "Pwomise?" he whispered.

"Promise." Enjolras replied, holding Grantaire close to his body and rubbing his back with his free hand.

"And… you don't think 'Aire is-is worfless?" the little boy- who shouldn't have known what that word meant, and especially proclaim himself to be 'worthless'- said hopefully.

Enjolras looked at Grantaire and suddenly acklowedged everything he'd been refusing to let himself until this moment; disappointment in grown up R for not telling his friends about his violent childhood, pure hatred toward Grantaire's abusive (and thankfully dead, because if they weren't dead Enjolras would be in prison) parents, love for this little boy whom had literally frog-hopped into his heart, and anticipation. He didn't think he could wait much longer for Grantaire to come back, he needed him. Enjolras desperately needed to tell Grantaire how much he cared- no, loved. Enjolras loved Grantaire. It had come to that. And he needed to tell him. "**_No._**" Enjolras finally choked out. "You are not worthless Grantaire. You've never been worthless. You are wonderful, do you understand me?" Enjolras said.

"Yes, Jolwas," Grantaire nodded, his eyes big. "and… Not mad at 'Aire?"

"No, no, no. No, sweetheart-", Enjolras paused, tears welling up, "I am most certainly not mad at you. I've never been mad at you, only frustrated."

"'Rustated…" Grantaire tried the word, tipping his head. "Anger huts… Never 'ad rustated 'afore." ,the little boy sniffled.

"Anger isn't supposed to hurt little frog. You're not supposed to hurt." Enjolras said. "And you won't. Not anymore."


End file.
